


School Days

by taywen



Series: Arthur in the House [4]
Category: Keys to the Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mostly Arthur's POV though, POV Alternating, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen
Summary: Arthur goes to Earth for school. Sure, he’s never left the House before that he can remember, but all mortals grow up in their respective Secondary Realms. What could possibly go wrong?Seven moments across six years.
Relationships: Arthur Penhaligon & Leaf & Ed
Series: Arthur in the House [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/54306
Comments: 35
Kudos: 35





	1. The First Monday

**Author's Note:**

> rolls up 6+ years later with another installment of this series

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a bit of medical peril in this chapter (from Arthur's asthma) but I think it's about the same as in canon

Earth was strange.

It was home, or at least, it was where he’d been born. Monday’s Dusk had shown Arthur his parents’ records, which had included pictures of them at various stages in their lives, as well as a description of his father’s life—but not his mother’s, disappointingly. The actual documentation of mortal records fell within the purview of the Upper House; the collation and binding of the records took place in the Middle House; and the completed records were stored in the Lower House. But as Saturday’s Dusk had explained, so stiffly that he could only have been embarrassed or ashamed, certain tasks within the House had fallen behind or were viewed as unimportant and the Denizens assigned to them were given other duties instead.

Still, even reading sanctioned records or consuming contraband media or examining the exhibits in the Incomparable Gardens couldn’t prepare him for the reality of life in the Secondary Realms. Tom had told him a bit more about what to expect; he was from Earth as well, though he’d been born long before Arthur and spent most of his time exploring other Secondary Realms. But he hadn’t mentioned how even the air felt different: Arthur had trouble getting full breaths, which had never happened to him before. Probably a mixture of the anxiety and anticipation churning in his stomach.

The Mariner had arranged everything for Arthur, and even agreed to stay with him for the first month, though the city the Trustees had chosen wasn’t close to any noteworthy body of water. Sunday hadn’t been happy about Tom’s involvement, but Arthur’s poorly-hidden relief had swayed him. Denizens weren’t mortals, and though most of them took human form, he had always been keenly aware that he was different from them. Tom had a better idea of how things would go on Earth.

“Are you sure it’s not an imposition?” Arthur asked, for what he promised himself would be the last time. Tom loved the sea, and he’d been kept from it, locked away in Tuesday’s Treasure Pyramid, for too long.

Tom smiled. “Arthur, it was my idea to stay with you. I would not have offered if I did not mean it. Now, are you ready for your first day of school?”

He was and he wasn’t; he had a backpack full of school supplies and absolutely no idea how interacting with kids his own age would be. The Piper’s children were the only beings in the House remotely similar in age to him, but their knowledge of Earth—faded and worn as it was—was centuries out of date.

Arthur took a deep breath, or tried to. For some reason, his lungs would not expand fully. Still, he said, “I’m ready,” with a confidence he didn’t really feel.

* * *

Tom drove him to school in a car, which was a novel experience, and left him with a stern but good-natured reminder that his cellular phone had Tom’s number programmed into it, as well as direct connections to various lines within the House itself. Arthur managed to find his locker and make his way to his classes without incident; it was strange not knowing anyone else, and nobody else knowing who _he_ was, but the anonymity was kind of nice.

Math and science class were familiar; he’d learned various branches across the Demesnes, enough that he could keep up with what was being taught. English was a bit stranger: he’d had access to plenty of literature from the Secondary Realms, but he hadn’t had much opportunity to discuss or analyze what he read.

The last class before lunch was PE—physical education. According to the movies he’d watched and the books he’d read, that mostly involved a variety of physical activities. Apparently on Mondays they did a cross country run. He changed into his gym clothes and followed the rest of the class outside, where Mr. Weightman awaited them: the run was through the park behind the gym, which resembled a forest more than that name suggested. The trees reminded Arthur of the Incomparable Gardens, though that greenery was maintained in an orderly fashion while this forest was unmistakably wild.

Arthur stared at it with some trepidation, lurching belatedly into motion when Mr. Weightman blew his whistle. Only some of the other kids sprang into action; others moved forward at a walk. Some of them hadn’t even bothered changing out of their regular uniforms, or wore street clothes. Arthur passed the walkers by quickly, though he already felt out of breath, which was definitely strange. He ran around with the Piper’s children in the Lower House almost every Monday, swam for at least an hour every Wednesday, trained with the rapier Thursday had gifted him on the days he spent in the Great Maze—

The most serious runners had already disappeared down the path. Arthur slowed. It wasn’t a race, after all. He tried to slow his breathing and get his breath back; he’d keep going as soon as—

But he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Hey, are you all right?” A boy and a girl—walkers, in their regular uniform—had stopped next to him. He recognized them from his previous class. They’d had the same last name, which had caught his attention when Ms. James took attendance.

“I—” Arthur’s breath stuck in his throat again, and the rest of his words trailed away in a wheeze. What was _happening_ —? He blinked stupidly up at the sky, his thoughts flying in a million different directions. It was strange not to have a ceiling or some other obvious, visible barrier overhead, but at least the grass was soft.

Why was he lying down, again?

“Hey!” The girl’s face appeared above him, creased with worry, followed a second later by the boy. They looked similar enough that they were probably brother and sister. They had the same last name, after all. But then again, Sunday and Tom didn’t look anything alike, and they were siblings.

“Ed, dial 000,” the girl said. “I think he’s having an asthma attack.” The boy fumbled for his cell phone, ducking away to speak into it. “Do you have an inhaler?”

Arthur shook his head. _Asthma_. He had studied up on a lot of Earth illnesses in his spare time—morbid curiosity driven by his parents’ death to an influenza epidemic. Asthma was a lung condition that caused difficulty breathing, though it was not normally fatal—provided adequate treatment could be administered in a timely fashion.

Ed and his sister were talking, urgently, but Arthur couldn’t focus on the words. He could barely hear the frantic, panicked pounding of his heart over his own laboured breathing.

The Will—it had claimed it was Part Four—had told him the Morrow Days had betrayed the Architect and weren’t to be trusted, back on that strange Thursday two years ago. Arthur had dismissed its words at the time: it had obviously tormented him often enough when he was a baby that it had conditioned him to cry at the mere sound of its voice. But as his lungs refused to fill properly, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had been telling the truth.

“Arthur.” He blinked his eyes open—when had he closed them?—and looked at the girl. “Ed’s going to the nurse’s office to see if they have a spare inhaler. I’m going to check if anyone else in the class has one. Just—keep breathing, okay?”

Arthur jerked his head in a nod; he couldn’t do much else. He blinked, or thought he did, and was alone; he managed to turn his head in time to see the girl disappearing down the path at a run. The forest had the same dense smell of vegetation that permeated the exhibits in the Incomparable Gardens, but Sunday wouldn’t stroll out of the trees—utterly out of place in his perfectly-pressed clothes—any time soon: it was only Monday. Monday himself was probably asleep, or busy with petitioners.

Or maybe he was watching through the Seven Dials—maybe they all were. Surely the Morrow Days had known about his asthma all along. Had they grown tired of raising a Rightful Heir? Whatever that was. He’d overheard other Denizens call him that, though he didn’t really know what it meant. Part Four of the Will had called him a Rightful Heir too.

Tom was here, though. He wasn’t one of the Morrow Days. He’d been _imprisoned_ by Tuesday, and Arthur had talked Tuesday into freeing him. Surely he wouldn’t let Arthur—die. He reached for his pocket, but his shorts didn’t have any. He’d left his cell phone in the changing room locker.

Tears were leaking freely out of his eyes, his wheezing breaths indistinguishable from sobs; the sun was overwhelmingly bright. Sunday had always warned him not to stare into the sun in the Incomparable Gardens, but Earth’s sun was so much brighter—

* * *

Warm metal touched his palm, and suddenly, Arthur felt his lungs expand a little. Sound returned next: Monday’s voice, familiar, though he couldn’t understand the words. His fingers curled tight around the thing in his hand, and Arthur greedily sucked in another breath. And another.

“—and so let the Will be done,” Monday said, his voice resolving into comprehensible words at last.

The Morrow Day knelt in the grass beside him, his face tight with worry, when Arthur managed to open his eyes.

“What’s the Will?” Arthur croaked. Two years ago, he’d asked the same thing of first Saturday—because he saw her sooner—and then Sunday, but both of them had refused to answer. Saturday had forbidden him from speaking of it to her, but Sunday had only vaguely said all would be explained when he was older.

Monday sagged with obvious relief. “I will already be in enough trouble back in the House, Arthur. I won’t add to it by explaining about the Will.”

“In trouble? Why?” Arthur frowned and sat up. He felt much better, more than well enough to return to the House and defend Monday from the other Morrow Days. The group had an unfortunate habit of ganging up on their own at the oddest times, and he didn’t want a repeat of what had happened with Wednesday, before they’d had him around to moderate. He braced his hands on the ground, to stand, and his lungs closed up again as the metal thing in one hand pressed into the grass.

“Don’t let go of the Minute Hand,” Monday said urgently, closing Arthur’s hand around— _the lesser half of the First Key_. Arthur stared at it in astonishment, then back at Monday.

“Why—”

“We don’t have time.” Monday looked past him, frowning. “The Minute Hand should mitigate your—asthma.” He said the word awkwardly, like it was unfamiliar. “Ordinary mortals won’t be able to see it, so don’t worry about that. I would advise against using the Minute Hand unless you must; I can’t imagine you would have occasion to.”

“I’ll try not to,” Arthur promised automatically.

Monday’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “I am glad to hear it. Now, I must return to the Lower House, but keep the Key and that cellular phone with you at all times. Any of us will be glad to help you should the need arise.”

 _Except Wednesday_ , Arthur thought, then felt bad for thinking it. She would do anything to help him, but she was hardly in a position to do so—because the other Morrow Days had stripped her of her authority, leaving her stuck as a massive leviathan. Because, as Wednesday’s Dawn had told him, she wanted to find a Rightful Heir.

Monday disappeared in a flash of blinding light; when Arthur blinked away the spots in his eyes, he saw a whole group approaching him: Mr. Weightman, what looked like half the class, and the girl who’d stopped to help him in the first place.

Arthur put thoughts of Rightful Heirs, the Will, and the Morrow Days firmly out of his mind. He could focus on that later.


	2. The Following Tuesday

“I still think you were hallucinating,” Ed muttered, but he followed her down the hall willingly enough, so she resisted the urge to snap at him. Yeah, a disappearing man in period costume sounded crazy, but not much crazier than Arthur spontaneously recovering from a really severe asthma attack without any medical intervention. Unless that Victorian-looking guy had been a doctor, which was just as absurd a thought as the rest.

“We should still check if he’s okay,” Leaf said firmly. Arthur’s panic had been real, even if he’d mysteriously recovered by the time she’d brought Mr. Weightman, along with half the class. She kind of regretted that part, but it wasn’t like she could’ve made them continue the run. Still, it was a pretty bad first impression for Arthur to make.

“Yeah.” They glanced at the doors as they passed, looking for the room the nurse at the desk had given them.

They found Arthur lying in a hospital bed, talking to an old man sitting next to him. The old man noticed them first, his weathered face breaking into a smile.

“Are these your friends, Arthur?”

Arthur gaped at them, which was answer enough.

“I’m Leaf, and this is Ed,” she said quickly. “We, um, tried to help Arthur yesterday.”

“And I thank you both for that,” the old man said gravely. “I’m Tom. I guess you could call me Arthur’s uncle.”

“Great-uncle, you mean?” Ed asked. Leaf elbowed him, smiling at Tom and ignoring Ed’s indignant glare.

“That’s right.” Tom stood—he was actually pretty tall—and gestured for them to come in. “Think I could use some coffee. I’ll leave you kids to talk.”

“Tom—” Arthur started, as Leaf tried to say something about not wanting to interrupt, but the old man could move surprisingly fast: the door was already closing behind him before either of them could finish.

“That _was_ a little weird,” Ed said thoughtfully.

Leaf just blinked at the closed door, before giving herself a mental shake. “We just wanted to see if you were okay,” she told Arthur. “We can go, if you want—”

“No, it’s fine. Please, sit down.”

That was also kind of weird. Too formal for a kid their age. Leaf sat gingerly on the chair Tom had vacated; Ed leaned against the wall beside her.

“So, what happened?” Ed asked, just as the silence was starting to get awkward.

“After I got in the—ambulance?” Arthur said the last word like it was unfamiliar. “It was just like on the television, I guess.”

Leaf exchanged a look with Ed. What kid said _the television_ instead of TV?

“I thought I saw someone with you before that,” she said. “A blond guy. In a costume.”

“I don’t know—” Arthur was hooked up to some kind of machine that monitored his heartbeat; the beeps started coming faster. He glanced at it with a frown.

“We seriously thought you were gonna die,” Ed said. “I mean, you looked really bad. And you didn’t have an inhaler or anything. But you were fine just a few minutes later? That’s kind of weird. No offense or anything,” he added quickly. “Obviously, we’re glad you’re still breathing.”

Arthur’s smile looked more like a grimace. “I don’t really know how to explain. I—I’ve never been to school before. I didn’t know I had asthma.”

His heart rate was slowing; didn’t a raised heartbeat mean someone was lying? So that meant he was telling the truth now.

“You were home-schooled?” Leaf asked. 

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. And I just moved here. It’s been a little—”

“Crazy,” Ed said. “Wow. That’s a lot.”

Arthur looked down at his hand; the other was tucked under the thin blanket. (Was he still clutching that weird knife thing from yesterday?) “It’s different than I thought it would be,” he said quietly.

Leaf felt kind of bad for interrogating him; he was obviously just a kid like them, even if things were a bit strange. Every day felt more or less the same for her; she couldn’t imagine being thrown into public school with a bunch of other kids who’d known each other for years and finding out she had asthma all in one day.

“Do you know when you’ll be back to school?” Leaf asked.

“Um, the doctors said I would probably be discharged tomorrow. So hopefully on Thursday.” His mouth was twisted unhappily.

“What other classes are you in? You’re in my math class, and Ed said you have Mr. Mueller for science with him, and we’re all in English.”

“Tom got my backpack from school, I think it’s in the wardrobe. I had my schedule in my binder, if you don’t mind getting it.”

Ed went over and got his bag, and they waited as Arthur dug out his schedule.

“So you’re in the same class as one of us except for Social Studies,” Leaf said. “But one of my friends is in that section. I’ll borrow her notes, and we can bring them all to you tomorrow, so you don’t miss too much.”

Arthur and Ed both blinked at her. Leaf stared back, trying not to show how self-conscious that made her.

“Are you sure? You barely know me.” Arthur sounded confused, but also hopeful.

Leaf shrugged, unable to put into words the feeling that—well, that she _wanted_ to know him. There was something different about Arthur, and she wanted to find out what it was.

A knock on the door saved her from having to explain. Tom let himself in a second later, a tray with a few bottles of juice and a plate of cookies balanced in one hand.

“I was feeling a little peckish,” he explained. “So I thought I’d get some for everyone.”

There was something about Tom that put her at ease; Ed obviously felt the same. By the time they left—almost an hour later!—they were all talking and laughing like they’d known each other for years.

“See you tomorrow, Arthur,” Ed said, hopping off the edge of the bed where he’d been perched.

“Bye. Thanks again for—getting help, and bringing me notes.”

“No problem,” Leaf said, and meant it.

It was only when they were walking home, Ed going over one of the stories Tom had told them—apparently he was a sailor or something—that she was struck all over again by how extremely weird everything was. And Arthur hadn’t actually answered any of the questions she had. But they would see him tomorrow; she’d ask him then.


	3. A Startling Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone back and added chapter titles. I don't know that they really add anything to the story, exactly, but they amused me in the moment.

Thanks to Ed and Leaf, it wasn’t too hard for Arthur to keep up with his classes, and he managed to finish all of the first week’s assignments by Saturday afternoon.

Tom had gone out earlier, after extracting a promise from Arthur not to overexert himself, leaving him alone in the house. It wasn’t _that_ big, compared to the House itself—there were nine bedrooms, one for Arthur, one for Tom, and one for each of the Morrow Days, despite the fact that only one of them could possibly visit at once—but there was always someone _around_ in the House. It never felt empty or lonely.

It was past noon, so Saturday’s Noon couldn’t come visit, and it would be hours before evening. Saturday herself could visit, of course, but Arthur knew she wouldn’t. It was tempting to invite Leaf and Ed over—Arthur had exchanged text messages with them a few times—but they were going to a concert today and he didn’t want to bother them. Still, he couldn’t shake the loneliness he felt at having the house all to himself.

He could use the time to think about everything he’d been putting off, though. Arthur hadn’t had a lot of time to think about the Will or his status as a Rightful Heir, even with all the time he’d spent in the hospital: Tom stayed pretty much the whole time, keeping him company and absolutely refusing to discuss the Will. He’d stiffened when Arthur mentioned it—obviously, he knew _something_ about it—but wouldn’t say a single word. He’d only raised his eyebrows when Arthur showed him the Minute Hand, and advised him to keep it close at hand.

Arthur opened up a fresh notebook and started to write everything he knew about the Will and Rightful Heirs. There wasn’t a lot. Part Four had told him the Morrow Days had broken the Will, which suggested that there were at least seven Parts. He had no idea what exactly the Will entailed, as Part Four hadn’t had the chance to do more than hiss about how untrustworthy the Trustees were before Thursday silenced it. From what he could glean from unwary Denizens, the Will had been left by the Architect to guide them in selecting a suitable Heir—though everything they had told him was second or third hand at best, even putting aside the fact that inheritance was more of a mortal concept. What was he supposed to inherit, anyway—

Someone knocked on the open door, startling him badly enough that he reached for the Minute Hand lying next to his notes. Saturday stood at the threshold, looking irritated. Whether it was with him, or the fact that she had to enter a Secondary Realm, or that she had assumed a more reasonable height so her head didn’t scrape the ceiling—? Well, Arthur had no idea.

“Uh, come in?” Arthur tried not to stare too openly.

Saturday’s cold eyes swept over his room, taking everything in without a change in expression—though her eyes widened when she saw the Key Arthur still clutched in one hand. “I would rather speak with you in the parlour. This is your space.”

“Okay.” Arthur closed the notebook, resisting the urge to hide it. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, probably, and trying to hide it would just be more suspicious. He followed her to the living room, which was decorated in what Tom had assured him was contemporary Earth fashion. It just looked weird to him, and judging by Saturday’s barely-restrained sneer, she felt similarly.

“Are you—all right,” Saturday said, once they were both sitting. He was used to her brusque nature, but she seemed almost awkward now.

“I’m fine now.” Arthur glanced down at the Key. “Thanks to Monday.”

Saturday looked at it as well, a crease appearing between her brows. “Yes. It appears you are a prime candidate for Rightful Heir.”

“Isn’t that why you—the Morrow Days, I mean—decided to raise me?”

Saturday inclined her head slightly in agreement. “We have decided that you should be informed about the specifics of your—destiny.” Her mouth twisted on the last word.

“Unanimously?” Arthur couldn’t resist asking.

Saturday’s eyes narrowed. “Sunday will doubtless show up tomorrow to tell you as well, but you should have a Denizen’s perspective on the matter.”

So she hadn’t wanted to him to be told, but the others had outvoted her, so now—she would tell him about it herself? Usually Saturday ignored him, aside from the hour she allotted him on his weekly visit to the Upper House; he’d never have guessed she would voluntarily spend time with him outside of that. Arthur had thought he knew her as well as any of the other Morrow Days, but that was apparently not the case.

Still, he had to ask— “Monday didn’t get in trouble for this, did he?” Arthur held up the Key in explanation.

“It was determined that giving you the Minute Hand was the best alternative,” Saturday said. “So long as you do not use it excessively, it should not unduly hasten your transformation.”

“My transformation?”

“A mortal cannot be the Architect. If you wish to inherit Her Creation, you must shed your mortality.”

“If I wish to what,” Arthur said.

* * *

The discussion that followed was eye-opening, and deeply disturbing. He’d heard mention of the Deep Coal Cellar—it was the second most-reviled place to work in the House, aside from the Pit that Tuesday had made of the Far Reaches—but he’d never imagined that a being like the Old One existed and was imprisoned there.

“So,” Arthur said, “the Architect quarreled with the Old One, who is Her other half, and chained him up on a giant clock to be tortured for the rest of eternity. But now She has grown tired of existence, and decided to return to Nothing, only she can’t do that because Her other half is imprisoned in the Deep Coal Cellar. So if She wants to return to Nothing, the House itself has to fall into Nothing so the clock can be destroyed and the Architect and the Old One can also go into Nothing. Is that right?”

He wanted Saturday to deny it, to haughtily inform him that he had misunderstood, but she only nodded.

“What about all the Denizens! And the Secondary Realms?”

“The Secondary Realms would be recorded at the moment of their destruction in the Atlas, thus allowing you—or some other Heir—to recreate it when you ascended to Architect.”

“Okay.” He didn’t know what this Atlas thing was, but he was used to inexplicably powerful artifacts popping up without warning in the House. “No, wait—what about the House?”

“The House was created after the Secondary Realms.”

Arthur blinked. “That’s not right. Everyone always says the House came first.”

Saturday pursed her lips. “That is technically true—the first piece of Creation _is_ in the House. The Architect emerged on the Elysium, but the rest of the House came after. The Elysium is located in the Incomparable Gardens,” Saturday added. “You’ve been there, I imagine.”

Once. Well, twice: he’d snuck up there on his own last year, and Sunday had taken him to the Elysium just before Arthur had left for Earth. It wasn’t that interesting. There was nothing there, apart from a stunted apple tree in an elaborate cage that Sunday had sternly warned him not to touch. But it had radiated such a deathly aura that he’d known not to touch it when he first crept up there.

“Yeah,” Arthur said vaguely. “Wait. Is that tree Sunday’s portion of the Will?”

“It must be; I cannot imagine what else would have the power to cause constant rain in the Upper House. But I have not been to the Incomparable Gardens since Sunday was appointed interim Master of the House.” Saturday said that last part especially stiffly.

“You just have to ask him if you want to visit,” Arthur said, as he always did when Saturday brought up the Incomparable Gardens.

Saturday sneered, as she always did, and changed the subject. “Regardless, the Will was written in such a way that only the Secondary Realms will be preserved. Naturally, we rebelled against the idea of hastening our own demise.”

“There’s got to be a way to save the House.” The House was his _home_. The Denizens—well, the upper administration—were his family. And he didn’t want all the others to fall into Nothing either, all because the Architect was—was capricious enough to imprison the Old One for eternity and then regret it.

Saturday stared at him. “In a way, perhaps it already is being saved. My own plans have been altered, and change is obvious in the other Demesnes as well.”

“What were you planning before?” Arthur had always wondered what Saturday did; she was always busy, but as far as he could tell, her Times took care of the actual running of the Upper House. However, Saturday’s Dusk was adept at changing the subject or offering a non-answer that Arthur didn’t recognize as such until he’d left the Upper House whenever Arthur asked.

“That is none of your concern,” Saturday said coolly. “Suffice to say, I have turned my efforts elsewhere.”

“Right.” Arthur dragged the syllable out.

Saturday frowned. “What kind of an education are you receiving at this—school. Your elocution has become even more sloppy.”

“Uh—” Of course, that only made her frown deepen. “That’s how kids my age talk.”

If anything, she managed to look even more dubious. Fortunately, Arthur heard a key turning in the front door, just down the hall. Tom’s voice followed a moment later, calling out a greeting.

Saturday grimaced. “I will take my leave. Dusk may be by later, should he finish his duties in time.” She swiftly sketched a set of steps with the Sixth Key, and disappeared onto the Improbable Stair just before Tom came into the room.


	4. Consecutive Fridays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a timeskip. takes place a year and change after the previous chapter.

Arthur Weeks was not a particularly exceptional child. He excelled in certain subjects and had trouble in others, like the vast majority of the children Amanda had taught. Neither was he a troublemaker: he consistently handed work in on time, and kept to himself, speaking mainly with Ed and Leaf when given the opportunity to do so.

She had Arthur for two classes that year, English (again) and Social Studies. He read and wrote at a higher level than most of his peers, but that wasn’t too unusual either: there was always a handful of students like that in every year. It was his knowledge of past events that stood out to Amanda.

As he usually knew the answers to any questions she posed—though he rarely volunteered them without prompting—she had asked him about the Creighton Act at the beginning of the year. He’d only looked at her blankly, then confessed with some embarrassment that he didn’t know the Act’s specifics nor its significance.

That was rather astonishing. The Creighton Act was a modern piece of legislation that had been passed around the time of Arthur and the rest of his cohort’s birth. It had been controversial at the time, and remained a contentious topic today, regularly appearing in the news several times a year. The Act was also mentioned intermittently throughout the curriculum in previous grades—for Arthur not to have any idea of what it meant was shocking.

Later that day, when Arthur returned to her class for English, he’d had a book on that very subject in among his armful of binders and texts. And in the next SS class, he’d explained the Act perfectly on the pop quiz Amanda had prepared.

Still, there was something—odd about the boy. His essays for English were well-written, but he sometimes referred to books that _did not exist_. Amanda had looked them up online, but no trace of the book or even the author ever cropped up. Yet his examples and quotations felt too detailed to be made up.

The only answer Amanda ever received when she tried to question Arthur about the oddities in his schoolwork was the rote claim that he’d been home-schooled before entering the seventh grade.

Which was why she’d asked for a conference with his parents. She intended to get answers from the source instead.

* * *

Arthur had brought back the parent-teacher conference form filled out perfectly—aside from the completely illegible signature for the parent. His parents had requested the latest possible appointment, but as there had been few other parents interested in meeting with Amanda, she ended up giving Arthur and his parents a slot fairly early in the evening, around five o’clock. It was her last appointment of the day, but it was still a good two hours earlier than requested.

Arthur frowned faintly when she handed him the appointment time. “Okay,” he said, any disappointment swiftly hidden when he looked up at her once more. “We’ll see you then, Ms. James.”

Most families wanted the earlier slots—the sooner the meeting was over with, the sooner they could get on with their evening. As far as Amanda knew, Arthur didn’t have any conflicting extracurriculars either—sports were out because of his asthma, and Arthur kept to his small group of friends. Surely if there was a scheduling conflict, he would have spoken up.

But when she emerged to check on her last appointment of the day, Arthur was sitting alone at the row of chairs against one side of the hallway, a faint scowl on his face.

“Arthur? Where are your parents?” She glanced around—perhaps they’d gone to the washroom?—but the corridor remained empty.

“She’s late. Probably forgot,” Arthur added in a mutter that Amanda doubted she was meant to hear. He pulled out his cell phone and called someone.

Amanda lingered in the doorway, blatantly eavesdropping.

Arthur’s scowl eased a moment later when someone answered. “Don? Yeah, she’s not—yeah. I did remind her this morning, but—All right, thanks. Bye.” Arthur stuck the phone back in his hoodie pocket and offered Amanda a smile. “Sorry for the wait, Ms. James. She’s just running a bit late.”

Amanda nodded understandingly; it wasn’t as if this was the first time one of her students’ parents had forgotten a meeting. Before she could reply, however, there was a flash of light further down the hall. A tall, beautiful woman in a flowing dress and, incongruously, a white lab coat over top, seemed to appear out of it.

Amanda blinked. Some kind of power surge, maybe? The school _was_ being renovated to add another wing with additional classrooms, after all.

“Sorry I’m late.” The woman didn’t sound sorry, however, nor was her smile particularly sincere—but what drew Amanda’s gaze was the iridescent pendant hanging around her neck. It seemed to gleam strangely in the fluorescent light.

“Don’t worry about it.” Amanda smiled back, and offered her hand for the woman to shake. “I’m Amanda James, Arthur’s English and Social Studies teacher. And you must be Arthur’s mother.”

“One of his guardians,” the woman said briskly. After a noticeable pause, she took Amanda’s hand and gave it a brief shake. “You may address me as Dr. Friday.”

Amanda somehow kept her polite smile on her face. “Well, if the two of you will follow me inside…”

Behind her, Arthur and Friday were muttering heatedly, too low for her to make out the words. Arthur swiftly hid his irritated expression when Amanda glanced back, though Friday did no such thing. She looked immensely bored by the proceedings as she sat gracefully down.

Somehow, she managed to make the cheap plastic chair set before Amanda’s desk look like a throne.

“Well,” Amanda said again, once it became obvious that Friday was not about the speak, “Arthur is a fine student.

“Thanks, Ms. James.” Arthur’s smile almost seemed genuine this time.

Friday only nodded, toying impatiently with her pendant; Amanda felt unaccountably awkward, and not particularly eager to drag things out. She cut to the chase:

“Arthur was home-schooled until he was twelve, was he not?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Arthur said.

“Yes,” Friday sighed a beat later. “His guardians—myself included—decided that he would benefit from attending public school now that he’s reached a certain maturity.” The words sounded like a memorized recitation.

She made it sound as if Arthur had—more than two guardians, at least. Which was a bit unusual, but Amanda was nothing if not professional and limited her reaction to a slow blink.

Friday turned to Arthur, blatantly dismissing Amanda. “Arthur, perhaps we should have you transfer classes. This woman is unusually perceptive. Most mortals would not question—your circumstances.”

“I’m not transferring,” Arthur said flatly. “English is the only class I have with Leaf _and_ Ed.”

“Excuse me,” Amanda said. “A student can’t just transfer classes in the middle of the semester.” And over _what_? Expressing an interest in her student’s education? That was her _job_.

The look Friday gave her was contemptuous. “That’s what you think, mortal.”

“I’m not transferring, Friday,” Arthur repeated firmly.

“We can discuss it with the others.”

Some of her students were more prone to emotional outbursts than others; Arthur had always come off as more tightly-controlled, but now he looked angrier than Amanda had ever seen him.

Amanda wasn’t entirely certain what happened then. A rotary telephone, brilliant red, suddenly started ringing. It sat at the edge of her desk, closest to Arthur and Friday—but there was no line attached to it, so who could have been calling without a physical connection—? And the old-fashioned phone had certainly not been there even a moment before.

Friday’s eyes narrowed in annoyance as she glared at the phone. Her pendant flashed, and—

—Amanda woke up hunched over her desk.

She blinked in confusion. She’d never fallen asleep at her desk before. The clock above the closed door said it was a bit after five-thirty.

What a strange dream.

The hallway was empty when she checked: Arthur’s family had missed their appointment. Amanda frowned, but put it from her mind. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. Perhaps something urgent had come up.

* * *

Next Friday, a handsome man with bronze hair and a slightly unsettling metallic beige suit greeted her as she was entering the school.

“You must be Ms. James.” His voice was low and rough. “I’m terribly sorry about last week; I missed Arthur’s appointment—”

“—Oh, you must be his father.” Amanda blinked at him, off-balance. It was a few minutes before seven; the sun had barely risen above the horizon: she wasn’t entirely awake yet.

The man’s smile grew strained. “Don Weeks.” He held out a hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she murmured, shaking his hand automatically. “And—the meeting wasn’t terribly important. Arthur’s a good student, I just thought it would be nice to meet his parents,” she added.

Weeks offered her another brisk smile, then checked his watch. “I’m going to be late; I’m sure you have a busy day to prepare for, so I shall leave you to it.”

Amanda nodded, dazed, and continued into the school. When she glanced back, Weeks had disappeared—and her lingering unease along with him. Obviously, Arthur’s parents had simply missed their appointment, and her strange dream was just that: a dream, probably brought on by her anticipating the arrival of Arthur’s family.


	5. A Cursed Sunday (or, accursed Sunday)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place ~2 years after the previous chapter.
> 
> the majority of this chapter was written in 2013 or 2014. I've edited it since then, but if some parts seem to have a different tone... that'll be why, haha.

“Before we begin, I want to make one thing abundantly clear,” Sunday said gravely.

Arthur looked up from his chemistry textbook, a sense of foreboding washing over him. Sunday was partly mortal, or had been anyway (Sunday had tried to explain it once, but just thinking about that talk made Arthur’s head hurt in remembrance), so he should have a better idea of what Arthur’s life was like and for the most part he did. It was just that Friday’s Dawn was a lot more understanding, and many of the Denizens were much more perceptive than Sunday tended to be, even with their more limited emotional capacity.

“Okay, what is it?” Arthur asked cautiously.

“There was a—vote.” Sunday uttered the last word distastefully. Arthur was learning about the different forms of government on Earth; Sunday was technically a dictator, though an overall benevolent one. (Some of the other Morrow Days would probably disagree with that assessment; Arthur thought of it as a work in progress.) Naturally, Sunday would disapprove of democracy. “It was decided that I would be the one to have this talk with you for I was once mortal.”

Arthur nodded: that was pretty much in line with what he’d been thinking earlier. “Talk about what, though?”

Sunday took a breath, squaring his shoulders as if preparing to enter battle. The thought of Sunday fighting anyone was ridiculous; Arthur bit the inside of his lip to stop a sudden and inappropriate laugh from escaping. It was probably nothing—just Sunday winding himself up, as usual.

“When a man and a woman—well, in the case of humans; different mortal races have different biology, obviously, but that is not currently pertinent to your case,” Sunday began, confusingly.

Arthur stared in dismay. This could not possibly be _that_ talk—

“When a man and a woman... know each other... in a physical sense... a child may be conceived,” Sunday continued blithely, pausing only to search for the proper euphemisms to convey his meaning without offending his delicate sensibilities.

Arthur cringed internally, but it was as if he was having an out of body experience; physically, he didn’t move at all, apart from the widening of his eyes. (Like he really needed to see everything fully so this horrific event could be burned into his memory in even greater detail.)

“...Well, it is different than the method in which Denizens are created,” Sunday said, oblivious to Arthur’s paralyzed horror.

That matter-of-fact statement served to bring Arthur out of his stupor—he’d been wondering about that lately, because he knew that Denizens didn’t reproduce in the same way that mortals do. Actually, he was pretty sure they didn’t reproduce at all. “How are Denizens created?” he asked quickly, hoping to divert Sunday without alerting the Trustee to the diversion.

“Oh, they come out of moulds,” Sunday said dismissively. As if it was common knowledge. Arthur certainly hadn’t heard anything about that. “Though there have not been any new Denizens for millennia, ever since the Architect left.”

Arthur nodded encouragingly, hoping to pursue that line of conversation. Sunday had a limited attention span for things outside of the Incomparable Gardens, so if Arthur could just keep him talking about stuff that wasn’t likely to traumatize Arthur for the rest of his life, Sunday would probably become bored and return to the House.

“Where was I? Conception, yes. Now, that does not mean a man must, ah, feel attraction to a woman or vice versa. Some men like other men and the same goes for women. Some feel no attraction whatsoever.”

“What about you?” Arthur asked, his teenage sarcasm kicking in.

Sunday blinked at him, obviously thrown. “Pardon?”

“Do you like men or women or what?” He was already here, he might as well go for it. It probably couldn’t get any worse than it already was.

“I do not—We are discussing humans, Arthur,” Sunday said sternly. “I was not human.”

Arthur blinked. “But you look—”

“Current House fashion,” Sunday said shortly, which made no sense. Wouldn’t the current House fashion be dictated by the Master of the House—? Sunday continued, oblivious to the track of Arthur’s thoughts, “Now, Arthur, you’re fifteen years old. Have you felt any—attraction to males or females?”

Arthur stared mutely.

“Neither?” Sunday guessed, then carried onward regardless. “Puberty sets in at different times for different people. Or perhaps you—”

“—girls, uh, I like girls,” Arthur blurted out, because having the talk about girls seemed like the best possible outcome in the midst of really horrible alternatives. Did the Morrow Days not know he had Health class for this sort of thing?

Sunday nodded gravely. “Then—”

Arthur stopped listening out of self-defense then. He palmed his phone and quickly texted _save me I’m getting the talk_ to Ed.

 _the talk as in the sex talk,_ his phone buzzed a few seconds later. So Ed probably wasn’t out with Oliver today.

 _what else???_ Arthur managed to shift his horrified lip-biting into a weak smile when Sunday asked him if he was listening. “Yep. Totally,” he lied.

_isnt this a bit late_

_not helping, Ed_

_say you have to work on a project with us and get the hell out of there_ , Leaf messaged after, probably alerted to Arthur’s plight when Ed started laughing at his desperate missives.

“I have a project for school,” Arthur blurted out, making the mistake of looking up. Sunday had produced a white board from somewhere—or possibly from Nothing, though Arthur’d never actually seen him perform sorcery before—and was drawing diagrams in coloured markers. Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble up but Arthur clamped down on the impulse. “Just remembered. Due tomorrow. Need to go.”

“I’m sure your friends could benefit from being a part of this talk,” Sunday said generously, and set about arranging it before Arthur could stop him.

Which was how Ed and Leaf end up sitting beside him on the couch half an hour later. It was late enough in the day that Sunday had brought his Dusk in to whip up some snacks and in the meantime had perfected his drawings. Arthur was trying not to look at the colour-coded diagrams too closely, for the sake of his sanity.

“Thanks, Reaper,” Arthur managed, accepting the plate of snacks from Sunday’s Dusk.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Dusk asked mildly.

“Alcohol—” Ed grunted when Leaf elbowed him in the side.

“Do you have juice?” Leaf asked, smiling.

“Alcohol is not good for you,” Sunday said disapprovingly as his Dusk went to find some juice. “Children should not—”

“—Ed’s just joking,” Arthur said quickly. “Right, Ed? Man, these snacks sure do look good, do you guys want some?”

Sunday accepted one and ate it daintily, utterly oblivious to Ed and Leaf’s staring. Which was just as well. Explaining this to them was going to be a headache, but at least it would mean this horrifying day would be over.

Arthur had never gotten around to inviting them over before now, which was probably why they’d accepted Sunday’s invitation so readily. It was a little difficult to have people over when there were often no adults around—Sneezer took care of the house on Mondays, and various Times were in and out throughout their respective days, but it wasn’t what anyone would consider regular. People didn’t question most of the stranger aspects of Arthur’s life because the really weird things took place outside of their awareness.

“So, Mr. Weeks, what do you do?” Ed asked.

“Call me Sunday,” Sunday said, pretty magnanimously for him. He wasn’t as insistent about proper forms of address as Saturday, but only just.

Leaf straightened: though Ed took it in stride, as most mortals did when Denizens—and Sunday—acted abnormally, Sunday’s reply only seemed to draw her focus. She had always been more aware of Arthur’s—oddness than most, though the strangeness seemed to fade from her mind if Arthur deflected her questions a couple of times.

“I work in landscaping,” Sunday added, which wasn’t technically untrue. Arthur was a little impressed in spite of himself.

“So Great-Uncle Tom’s a sea captain and you’re in landscaping—”

“ _Great_ -Uncle Tom?” Sunday gave Arthur a look of outraged betrayal. “I’m _his_ older brother.”

Leaf looked altogether too gleeful about this revelation. Arthur tipped his head back to stare in despair at the ceiling. Of course Sunday had studied up on human biology to lecture him about reproduction but utterly lacked any awareness of familial relations.

“Cool, I’m an older bro too,” said Ed.

Arthur thumped his head against the back of the couch a couple of times, but it was soft enough that it barely even hurt, never mind providing enough resistance to give him the sweet release of unconsciousness.

“So, does that make you Arthur’s grandfather, Sunday?” Leaf asked innocently.

“No.” Sunday dragged the syllable out. He looked guilty when Arthur lifted his head. Well, better late than never. “I’m one of Arthur’s guardians.”

“ _One_ of—”

“I’m adopted,” Arthur blurted out. It wasn’t even a lie, really. Sure, Friday had unintentionally kidnapped him, so it wasn’t true on _paper_ , but—“Sunday, I think we need to finish this, uh, instructional lecture. We have school tomorrow, and you’ve got work.”

Ed side-eyed him, probably wondering why the hell Arthur was reminding Sunday about the Talk they’d been successfully derailing. Leaf’s narrowed eyes were more shrewd: she knew a diversion when she saw one.

Arthur looked back as casually as he could muster.

Of course, that was when the Reaper returned, bearing several glasses of juice, only to disappear a moment later as dusk faded into proper night. Right in front of his friends. Sunday, turned to point at one of his diagrams, completely missed the whole scene.

Arthur put his head in his hands and groaned.


	6. Wednesday Weirdness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place a month or so after the previous chapter.

“I just think it’s strange,” Leaf said for, like, the hundredth time. At least. She didn’t specify what she thought was strange, but she didn’t have to: there was only one recurring, continuously strange phenomenon in her life.

“Yeah,” Ed said distractedly. He didn’t bother looking up from his phone; she was probably just frowning into the distance as she brooded. He couldn’t tell if Leaf’s obsession with Arthur’s weird family was ‘cause she liked him or ‘cause she was a little weird herself. Their great-grandmother had always claimed she had the Sight, and apparently Leaf had inherited it too.

“Who are you even texting. I thought Oliver was at basketball practice.”

“I’m texting Arthur to hurry up. That way you can pester him in person; you’re welcome.” Ed slouched back on the bench, looking hopefully up and down the main thoroughfare. The mall wasn’t too crowded—it was only Wednesday evening, far from peak shopping hours—but he still didn’t spot Arthur. Sadly.

“Don’t you think their names are weird?” Leaf pressed.

“Tom’s a normal name.” Ed opened the latest game he’d downloaded on his phone: it was just a mindless three symbol matching game and left him able to play it and listen to Leaf at the same time.

“Yeah, but what about _Sunday_ and _Monday_. And I swear Arthur called that butler guy ‘Reaper’.” Reaper’s disappearing act was a big thing. Ed just thought the gloomy guy’d left, but Leaf insisted he literally disappeared. As for Monday—they’d met him last year after school; he’d come to pick Arthur up for some reason. Apparently he was also the guy Leaf had seen back when they first met Arthur. And Sunday—well, okay, that guy was pretty odd.

But still—“Our names are Leaf and Branch,” Ed pointed out.

“But they’re not hippies!”

“Monday’s an actor, isn’t he?” That was the reason Arthur had given for his old-timey clothes. Though, Ed had tried to look him up—what, he had eyes—and he couldn’t find any trace of Monday online. Which was also a little weird, but maybe he was still in the aspiring stage of his career?

“Sunday’s a corporate shill,” Leaf insisted.

“He works in _landscaping_.” Allegedly. It _was_ a little hard to imagine someone as well-dressed (and—old? He’d said he was Tom’s older brother, come to think of it) as Sunday doing the physical parts of the job, but what did Ed know. Maybe he was the designer or whatever. Or maybe he just liked good-looking clothes when he wasn’t working.

“So it’s almost guaranteed he uses pesticides! And you _know_ how bad monocultures like lawns are. That’s like the staple of most modern landscaping!”

Ed groaned loudly. If he’d wanted another lecture about the state of the environment and society in general, he would’ve stayed home. Thankfully, that was when Arthur finally jogged up, his cheeks flushed. He was a little out of breath, but not so much that an asthma attack might be near. Since that first day, his asthma hadn’t really been an issue, actually.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” Arthur slumped down on the bench next to him.

Ed waved the apology off. “Nah, you’re on time. I made Leaf leave early ‘cause I wanted some actual meat for supper.” Their environmentalist parents were strictly vegan.

“You mentioned gifts—who are you shopping for?” Leaf asked.

“My family,” Arthur said slowly. Probably realizing that asking Leaf along for help with selecting some of them would only make her more curious. He should’ve thought of that earlier, but Ed wasn’t gonna complain: tagging along with them was an excuse to get out of the house. “They always act happy with whatever I give them, but I want to get them gifts that they’ll really enjoy.”

“Makes sense.” Ed stood up, hoping to get the ball rolling before Leaf shifted into full interrogation mode. “Let’s get going then.”

* * *

“So, how many more gifts do you need?” They’d been in and out of what felt like half the stores already; Ed’s arms were getting tired from holding all the bags. He’d known Arthur was loaded—his house was huge—but this was something else. Leaf and Arthur were carrying just as many bags too. How big _was_ his mysterious, mostly-absent family?

Arthur shifted his purchases to one arm and pulled out his phone. Ed could just see a list of words—names and associated gifts, maybe?—though he wasn’t close enough to read them. Arthur swiped out of the screen before Leaf could sneak a peek. “Uh, like—probably a dozen more?”

“ _Twelve_ more.” Ed flopped into an empty armchair in one of the strategically placed sitting areas, though he put down Arthur’s gifts more carefully. He tipped his head back and shut his eyes. “Go on without me. Leave the bags here and I’ll keep watch.”

“Yeah, you look real alert with your eyes closed,” Leaf scoffed, but he heard bags rustling a moment later, so obviously she wasn’t above offloading her burdens either.

“Sorry for the hassle,” Arthur said.

Ed cracked an eye open, trying to gauge if he was being sarcastic, faking it, or genuinely felt bad. He usually only faked positive reactions though. Sure enough, Arthur’s mouth was downturned. “Hey. I knew what I was getting into; I’m the one who tagged along with Leaf. Didn’t you want her opinions on gifts for, uh—your girl cousins, I guess? Or aunts?” He knew for sure that Arthur didn’t have sisters; he’d said he had no siblings not long after they first met.

“If Ed’s bored, he only has himself to blame,” Leaf added. “It’s not like you invited him.”

Ed lifted his head to glare, but of course she ignored him completely. Wait, he hadn’t butted in on a date or something, had he? He eyed Arthur carefully, but he’d been acting pretty normal tonight, wild shopping spree aside: carefully deflecting Leaf’s questions and changing the subject at every opportunity. So there probably was something weird going on, but Ed didn’t feel too pressed to find out what it was. Didn’t seem too shady or anything.

Although if Arthur _did_ want to start dating his sister, Ed might have to take it a little more seriously—

“Stop making that face, this isn’t a date,” Leaf said scornfully.

“‘Kay.” Ed slumped back down against the chair.

“Uh—” Arthur’s cheeks were flushed again. “Yeah, that’s—Leaf’s my best friend. I mean, you both are.”

Ed waved a hand dismissively—he knew Arthur was closer to Leaf—and pulled out his phone with the other. Oliver’s practice should be over by now and, yep, there were a bunch of notifications from him. “You should probably hurry up if you wanna finish before the mall closes,” he added absently, already typing a reply to one of Oliver’s texts.

* * *

Arthur and Leaf had passed him by three more times, and stopped to drop off more purchases once, by the time Ed looked up from his phone and realized the mall was closed. The nearby stores had closed grates and locked doors: only the anchor department store at the far end was still open. The hallway was practically empty, its occupants making their way towards various exits. He hadn’t seen Arthur or Leaf for almost an hour either; he’d been absorbed in messaging Oliver and his other friends or playing games, so he hadn’t exactly noticed the time passing—but his phone was almost dead now.

He texted Leaf a bunch of question marks, then sent another message to their dad asking him to come pick them up: there was no way Arthur was taking everything home on a bus. In fact, all of these bags might not even fit in his family’s electric car. After a few seconds’ debate, Ed started trying to consolidate smaller items into bigger bags.

Leaf looked a little dazed when she and Arthur showed up about five minutes later. Ed squinted; did he need to play the role of big brother?

“Oh, good idea,” Arthur said, oblivious. “I guess I can’t take all these bags on the bus, right?” He crouched down and started helping Ed make their load more manageable.

“Dad’s coming to pick us up. He should be here in like ten minutes,” Ed said, instead of asking how the hell Arthur thought he’d be able to carry all of this alone, much less on the bus, in the first place.

Arthur paused, a miniature bear figurine in one hand, and blinked at him. “He doesn’t have to—”

“Don’t worry. It’s our maternal great-grandmother that had the Sight.” Ed smirked. “The only thing he’ll ask you about is how you can bring yourself to use all this plastic. Ethical consumption and all that.”

“That’s right!” Leaf looked a little manic as she produced a couple of large cloth bags from her purse and started helping them repack everything.

“Did you find gifts for everyone?” Ed asked a few minutes later. The silence felt a little—well, weird. Usually Leaf was the one to break it, but she was focused pretty intently on the task at hand.

“Mmhm.” Arthur nodded, stuffing various pieces of clothing—scarves, mostly, but also some shirts—into one of Leaf’s reusable bags. “And this is for you.” He passed Ed a vintage Plague Ratz album, still in the original plastic.

“Wha—Where’d you find this?” Ed demanded, nearly dropping a kitschy raven paperweight in surprise.

“The record store?” Arthur looked at him a little blankly.

“I check their vintage section every time I come here,” Ed said. He’d checked it earlier that _day_ , after he and Leaf had eaten supper but before they settled in to wait for Arthur.

The other teen shrugged. “Leaf said you were looking for this album. Maybe you missed it last time.”

“Well, uh—thanks.” Ed slipped it back into the slim paper bag—better than plastic in his parents’ eyes, but not by much—and put it aside, so it wouldn’t get mixed up with the other gifts.

* * *

“I mean, don’t you think it’s weird that Arthur managed to find my most wanted Plague Ratz album?” Ed asked, once they’d dropped Arthur off. “I checked for it before he got there!”

Not that he wasn’t grateful, exactly, but maybe Leaf had a point. She and Ed had helped Arthur carry everything inside his house; the place had been dark, though it wasn’t that late, and the only shoes in the entryway obviously belonged to Arthur. Were his guardians _all_ working late?

“Late stock delivery, maybe.” Leaf was lying on her bed, reading a wikipedia article on her phone.

“Can you take this a little more seriously? I thought Arthur’s weirdness was your obsession.”

Leaf shrugged. “He tried to explain it to me. It’s pretty weird, but it makes sense I guess. Don’t worry about it.”

Ed threw up his hands. “Why do I even bother,” he muttered, and stalked off to his own room.


	7. The Last Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place ~3 years after the previous chapter.

“So, are we going to meet a Thursday Weeks today?” Leaf teased as they milled around the waiting area next to the event hall. Their high school graduation happened to fall on a Thursday.

Sir Thursday himself wouldn’t be attending, though Marshal Dusk had conveyed his commander’s apologies in his latest letter: apparently the campaign in the Great Maze this year was a particularly intense one and Thursday couldn’t be spared. But Marshal Noon had promised he would be there, and Dusk had written that he would try to attend the dinner that evening as well.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur said. “Even if there was a Thursday in the family, I would’ve already met him, so there’d be no ‘we’ about it.” Ed was currently on again with his on-again off-again boyfriend, so it was just Arthur and Leaf for the moment. Presumably Ed and Oliver were somewhere else in the crowded room, but Arthur wasn’t that interested in potentially getting an eyeful of them making out, so he didn’t bother to look around.

Leaf narrowed her eyes playfully at him. “One day I’ll figure out what’s up with your sprawling extended family.” He’d tried to explain about the House a few years ago; she’d been incredulous, though as far as he was concerned it was so crazy that it had to be true. Since she hadn’t believed him about the House, he didn’t try telling her about the Trustees—he didn’t want her to think he was lying, so he, well, lied to her instead.

“Tom’s here, so maybe you can ask him later.”

“You mean Great-Uncle Tom? Sunday’s younger brother?”

Not for the first time, Arthur cursed Sunday and his big mouth, but outwardly, he didn’t even blink: this was a favourite oddity for Leaf to harp on. It had stymied him the first time she brought it up, which had only cemented her fixation upon it, but he was accustomed to the question now. “Sunday’s really intense about properly moisturizing,” Arthur said, deadpan, “but Tom couldn’t care less.”

Leaf burst out laughing. “That’s—a new one,” she wheezed a few moments later, when she’d calmed down some.

Arthur couldn’t help cracking a grin. “I’m sure he would offer you tips, if you asked.”

“Oh, will he be around this weekend?” Leaf asked shrewdly.

Arthur only shrugged; from the front of the room, one of the school’s administrators raised their voice to ask the graduating class for quiet before he had to reply.

* * *

As the line of soon-to-be high school graduates slowly inched toward the stage where they would be presented with their diplomas, Arthur scanned the rows of seats for Marshal Noon. Tom had found a seat in the back row, probably out of courtesy for the mortals around him: he was far and away the tallest person present. Noon was only a few inches shorter, if Arthur remembered correctly—it wasn’t like he’d ever seen them together—but there was no sign of him amongst the crowd.

Arthur checked that the Minute Hand was tucked securely in the, well, sheath strapped to his left forearm. He only wore the sheath when his outfit didn’t have suitable pockets, and though he had regular clothes on under the graduation gown, it would’ve impeded his access to the Key. He felt unusually anxious, which could have been due to the big question mark looming in his future—should he stay on Earth and pursue a life here, or should he return to the House and finish the process of inheritance?—but he felt pretty calm about all of that, actually.

No, what bothered him was the fact that Marshal Noon had promised he would be here. Arthur wasn’t a kid anymore, moping about broken promises, but Thursday’s Noon wasn’t one to break his word; nor was Thursday petty enough to forget or ignore the importance of this particular Thursday and assign his Noon to some other task instead.

He checked his watch when he finally reached the foot of the steps leading up to the stage: there were still a few minutes left before one o’clock. But there had been no flashes of light to signal Noon’s arrival, and the doors to the hall had all remained closed. When Arthur scanned the crowd again, he still couldn’t see the marshal.

He found his way to Tom after the ceremony was over and he’d gotten rid of the graduation clothes.

“Did you see Marshal Noon?” Arthur asked.

“No. I didn’t see any obvious Denizens. Was he supposed to be here?” Tom’s voice was decidedly neutral. Arthur didn’t know if his attitude towards Denizens was disapproval over their interference in the Secondary Realms, a lingering dislike from his imprisonment by Tuesday, or for some other reason entirely; he’d never felt comfortable enough to press. There were so many years of history within the House—the specifics of which changed depending on who he asked—that he couldn’t know the reasons behind every odd thing that stood out to him.

…Maybe he should have more sympathy for Leaf.

Arthur glanced around the corridor, crowded with families congratulating their new graduates. Leaf was further down, with her family, Oliver, and a couple Arthur assumed was Oliver’s parents. She noticed his gaze and started making her way through the throng towards him.

“He said he would be. I guess something came up.” Arthur kept his tone light, but it didn’t seem to fool Tom, who frowned faintly. “I’m starving. Do you have time to grab lunch? Alone,” he added quickly, just as Leaf pushed between two different families into the bubble of space around him and Tom.

“Of course. I always have time for my _great-nephew_ ,” Tom said grandly, entirely for Leaf’s benefit. “Oh, Miss Leaf. Congratulations.”

Leaf smiled sweetly. “Thanks, Tom. Is it just you here? I thought more of Arthur’s family would show up.”

Tom smiled back, just as genial. “They’re all rather busy. They only get one day off a week.” He winked at her: for some reason, he seemed to find Leaf’s persistent efforts to figure Arthur out entertaining, and often dropped hints for her on the rare occasions they saw each other.

Leaf’s eyes narrowed in response: Arthur could almost see her filing away this latest fact.

“Ha-ha.” Arthur glared up at Tom. “Can we please go? I really am starving.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Leaf said, though he could tell she didn’t really mean it. “I’ll see you at the dinner tonight, right? We can catch up then.”

“Looking forward to it, Miss Leaf.”

* * *

“You could always call the Great Maze,” Tom remarked as they waited for their food.

Arthur turned his cell phone’s screen off and placed it facedown, to resist the urge to check for notifications. Monday and Tuesday had figured out how to convert some of the House’s old-fashioned rotary telephones into cellular ones last year, but so far the rest of the Morrow Days had resisted switching over, so he only got text messages from the Lower House and the Far Reaches anyway. The first two Trustees had already sent him their congratulations.

“I don’t want to bother them. Marshal Dusk said this campaign is a difficult one. That’s why Thursday himself couldn’t come.”

“I haven’t heard about anything in particular from Sunday. He calls me periodically now.” Tom sounded faintly bemused. “I imagine he would call you before me, should any serious problems arise in the House, however.”

Arthur nodded and firmly put thoughts of the House out of his mind: their food had arrived, and even once he wasn’t starving, he still wouldn’t be equipped to unravel the tangled knot of the Architect’s family.

But Tom brought the conversation back to the subject a few minutes later. “You haven’t met Pietro yet, have you?”

“Pietro?”

“The Piper,” Tom clarified.

Arthur shook his head. “Suzy—she’s a Piper’s child in the Lower House—said he hasn’t been seen for—seven hundred years, I think?”

“Well, I was trapped by the Grim for two thousand years,” Tom said drily. “But I think I would have known if Pietro were in that pyramid with me.”

“Sunday’s mentioned him a couple of times, though I don’t think he has any idea where the Piper went either.” Arthur wracked his mind, trying to remember if any of the other Morrow Days had ever brought the Piper up in conversation. Nothing jumped out at him.

“It’s not like him to stay away from the House for so long.” Tom ate a few more mouthfuls of lobster, looking unusually pensive. “He and Sunday often quarrel; it isn’t unusual for him to disappear into the Secondary Realms afterward. Sometimes he’d find me to complain about our dear older brother.” Tom’s mouth quirked wryly. “But he was close to Saturday, and he always looked out for the mortals he brought into the House. I don’t think an argument with Sunday would keep him away.”

“Time moves differently between the House and the Secondary Realms. Maybe, wherever the Piper is, he doesn’t realize how much time has passed,” Arthur suggested. Earth’s time was closely in line with the House’s at the moment, but he knew that hadn’t always been the case.

“Perhaps.” Tom didn’t sound too convinced, though; his eyes remained distant throughout the rest of the meal.

* * *

The remainder of the day was more of the same. Tom and Arthur were both quiet despite Leaf’s attempts to draw them out at the graduation dinner. Her parents cast Arthur and his “great-uncle” strange looks—they really weren’t up to standard if mortals other than Leaf noticed their unusual behaviour.

“Are you going to look for the Piper?” Arthur asked when they got back to his house.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin. The only place other than the House that I can imagine he would stay for an extended period of time is here on Earth.” Tom frowned. “Pietro was always the one to find me.”

Arthur tried not to look too judgmental. Tom had always seemed like the better brother—but with only someone as self-centred as Sunday for competition, maybe that wasn’t actually saying much. No; that was unfair. The three brothers were all adults who were more than powerful and capable enough to fend for themselves. It wasn’t Tom’s responsibility to look out for the Piper.

“I could ask Monday,” Arthur offered. He was a little curious, now. Sunday and Tom were so dissimilar—would the Piper resemble either of them? “The Seven Dials can locate anyone across the Secondary Realms, right?”

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you. I’ll take the Improbable Stair. If I focus intently enough upon Pietro, it will take me to him.”

“How exactly do you use the Improbable Stair?” Arthur asked. He’d been on it a handful of times with Sunday. Saturday used it only rarely, to leave or enter the House; the rest of the Trustees had never used it to Arthur’s knowledge, though from what he’d gleaned, they _could_ if they wanted to.

Tom hummed. “I wonder if I’ll get in trouble for telling you this—but surely it can’t hurt.”

“Don’t tell me if it’s going to put you at odds with the Morrow Days,” Arthur protested.

Tom smiled faintly. “You needn’t worry about me, Arthur. I can take care of myself.”

Arthur managed not to point out that Tuesday had captured and held him captive for two thousand years; Tom might bring it up, but Arthur never had. “If you’re sure. I feel like it could be useful to know.”

“Aye, that it would be.” Tom looked thoughtful for a moment before he launched into his explanation: “The Improbable Stair can be used to reach any destination, though accessing it requires a tool of great power, like your Minute Hand, or my harpoon. To enter it, you must imagine a set of stairs; I’ve always found drawing the individual steps helpful. Once you begin climbing the Stair, you must focus firmly on your destination. It works best if you seek a destination you’ve visited before; if you haven’t been there before, you will likely encounter Landings with greater frequency.”

Arthur blinked: Sunday had never mentioned Landings when he took Arthur on the Stair.

“Landings are unexpected stops along the way,” Tom explained. “They are usually places out of time, and far across space from your true destination. If you do find a Landing, you must return to the Stair as soon as possible—or risk being stranded there forever.” He said the last part with particularly ominous relish.

“I thought it was sounding too good to be true.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “How come someone can’t just access the Stair later on? Wouldn’t they still have a Key or some other tool suitable for reaching the Stair?”

Tom shrugged. “These were the rules laid down by the Architect Herself.”

“Of course,” Arthur muttered. “Well, thank you, Tom. Godspeed and all that.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Tom said, a bit too gravely for such a lacklustre well-wish. “Until we meet again.” He lifted his hand, which suddenly held his harpoon, and sketched a set of stairs just as he had suggested; the tip of the harpoon left a glowing gold outline in the air. Tom placed his foot upon the first intangible step, and disappeared.

* * *

Arthur got ready for bed on automatic, unaccountably disappointed. He knew why the other Morrow Days couldn’t attend his graduation, but he’d really been looking forward to seeing the marshals. They had little reason to visit the Secondary Realms, unlike the Times of some other Morrow Days, so Arthur had scarcely seen them during his six years on Earth.

He glanced at the clock next to his bed: it was just after ten. Way too early for him to go to sleep, usually, though he made more of an effort on Thursday nights if only because Friday’s Dawn tried to visit every week at his appointed hour. He frowned and looked guilty if Arthur seemed tired when the Time’s arrival woke him.

Meeting with the Dawn who had taken charge of him after Lady Friday mistakenly took him from Earth—for reasons he still wasn’t entirely clear on—always cheered Arthur up. And Dawn was always knowledgeable about the state of affairs in most of the other Demesnes.

Dawn would wake Arthur in a few hours, congratulate him, and tell him what was happening within the House. Arthur resolutely closed his eyes, as if he could force himself to sleep by going through the motion—

“Arthur.”

The young man in question jolted upright, Key in hand. Thursday had the Fourth Key out as well, the broadsword’s blade glowing with a faint green light reminiscent of the Great Maze’s moon. His deep-set eyes always looked bruised from lack of sleep, but the effect was worsened by the dim light.

“Wha—Thursday—?” Arthur glanced at the clock: as he watched, the digital display ticked over to 11:59. Well, obviously it was still Thursday, since the Morrow Day was here, but—

“We don’t have time,” Thursday said urgently. “The Middle House has fallen. We do not know what has become of Lady Friday; another holds the Fifth Key, and dominion over Friday. I was barely able to reverse the flow of time long enough to warn you.”

Arthur was still groggy from sleep; he’d expected Friday’s Dawn to wake him. This was too much to take in all at once. All he could think was— “What about Dawn?”

Thursday’s expression grew even more grim. “We do not know. All contact with the Middle House has been lost. We _must_ return to the House, Arthur.”

 _That traitor got what she deserved,_ hissed a familiar voice: Part Four of the Will. _Thursday is weakened and distracted. Wrest the Fourth Key from him, Arthur, and we will punish him as well—_

Arthur blinked in the sudden silence and darkness. Thursday had disappeared, taking the light and the Will with him. He looked instinctively at his clock again.

The glowing red numerals told him it was 12:00 AM. On Friday morning.


End file.
